


Jackson, Ethan, and Season 12 of Rupaul's Drag Race

by Soncasong



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Minor Violence, Protective Jackson, Season 12 (RuPaul's Drag Race), Snark, Teasing, Television Watching, but nothing explicit happens, ethan has taste, everyone bullies jackson, jackson is a gigi apologist, theyre both really horny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 03:15:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29361618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soncasong/pseuds/Soncasong
Summary: One of the perks of living in London was access to RuPaul's Drag Race on Netflix. So of course Jackson and Ethan tuned in every week, because even werewolves watched the gay olympics. Rogue hunters, a pandemic, and annoying coworkers non withstanding. Jackson did not expect to be antagonized this hard by his boyfriend, though.
Relationships: Ethan/Jackson Whittemore
Kudos: 9





	Jackson, Ethan, and Season 12 of Rupaul's Drag Race

“Yo, I’m home,” Jackson called out, hip checking the door and trying to keep his armful of groceries from spilling over their newly waxed floor. The smart half of his brain knew they should be keeping the door locked at all times, safety measures against the remnants of Monroe’s zealous army, but the other half, running on three shots of espresso and desperation, was grateful Ethan left the door unlocked. He could hear Ethan’s heartbeat tick up just a fraction, smell the lingering scent of shampoo and conditioner over that musk that was so distinctively Ethan. Jackson frowned.

“You showered already?”

“Spent the day hauling boxes,” Ethan replied lightly, meeting Jackson at the door with a kiss, “Didn’t want to stink up the couch too much.”

Jackson knew Ethan had a point, but he pouted anyway, “Fair. But you owe me.” He’d gotten used to sharing the shower with Ethan. 

“Yeah, I stopped keeping track about three years ago.”

Jackson chucked a container of sour cream at Ethan, catching it with his tail inches from Ethan’s face.

Ethan just smirked, the cocky bastard, “Jackass. Stop being gross.”

“You love me.”

“Yeah, unfortunately,” Ethan said, unloading more of the groceries into their cupboards and cabinets, “Hurry up, season twelve started three days ago and we still haven’t seen the premiere. Danny’s about to explode from having to keep quiet.”

Jackson rolled his eyes, “Listen, Danny isn’t the one trying to track down a cell of rogue hunters for the past week.” There have been a slew of attacks on London’s supernatural community lately. Nothing fatal, but slowly growing more emboldened and frequent. Him and Ethan had been trying to put together everything they knew about the attacks, patrolling the streets and sniffing around back alleys and warehouses, to no avail. On top of that, Jackson’s firm was taking on a pretty complicated domestic case and he knew Ethan was preparing for some big event at his antique shop, too. Not exactly prime TV watching conditions. 

Ethan plopped on to their couch and patted the spot next to him, “C’mon, I know you’ve been dying to watch the drag race premier ever since it came out, even if you’re trying to play it off. Get on the couch. Let’s watch the gay olympics.”

“I don’t know, Ethan. Season eleven was kind of ass.”

“Jackson, I can hear it when you lie. Like, literally. Get your pretty ass over here.” 

Jackson hated when Ethan was right. He took his sweet time making his way to the couch anyways, because if he wasn’t right then he was going to be petty. Ethan just laughed and pulled him in, slinging and arm over Jackson’s shoulder and sticking his feet in Jackson’s lap. This was, admittedly, nice. Ethan’s weight pressing against his body, their scents mingling and mixing, the steady beat of Ethan’s heart in his ears. Jackson reached for the remote and flipped on Netflix. He heard from Danny that RuPaul’s Drag Race was not available on the American version, and thanked his parents for the thousandth time that they had the foresight to get him out of Beacon Hills. Even if the weather was shit, London had the Thames and symphony orchestras and Ethan. And better Netflix. 

They cuddled on the couch as the queens entered the werkroom, making the occasional comment at a shady quip or a corny pun. Ethan was living for Heidi N. Closet, cackling at the queen’s malaproper of leopard and leprosy. Jackson could see the appeal, but he preferred to see the queens in action first before picking his favorites.

When the telltale siren sounded after Crystal Methyd’s entrance, Jackson turned to Ethan, confused, “That was only queen seven, right?”

“Split premier,” Ethan replied coolly, “you haven’t been watching the previews on YouTube?”

Jackson scoffed, “Don’t exactly have time to scroll through YouTube all day. Unlike a certain werewolf.”

“Hey! I help pay rent too.”

Jackson quirked an eyebrow at Ethan.

“Okay, fine. Business has been slow lately.” The antique shop Ethan had decided to buy admittedly had a stellar reputation among London’s history community, but it wasn’t exactly what Jackson would call a thriving industry. Still, Ethan liked the work and the hours were flexible. Perks of ownership. 

Jackson loved to tease the shit out of Ethan about it though, “What, you guys had one whole customer today instead of two?”

Ethan growled, playfully nipping at Jackson’s ear. His fingers found the ticklish length between Jackson’s hip and ribs. Jackson let out an indignant bark before dissolving into a fit of involuntary giggles, pushing back against Ethan with his own flailing limbs.

“W–Wait!” Jackson ground out between laughter, “T–They’re starting–hah!–runways.”

That snapped Ethan back to attention. Jackson smirked and planted a kiss on Ethan’s cheek. His boyfriend took drag race just a bit too seriously. Jackson was pretty sure Ethan was in some sort of fantasy league with Danny and Lydia, even though none of them had bothered to include Jackson. Probably because Ethan had shit luck and was bleeding money out of his ass. Whatever, Jackson made a damn good sugar daddy.

They were halfway through the fall runways when Jackson’s stomach gave out a very loud, very conspicuous growl. 

“Did you eat?” Ethan asked.

“I’m pretty sure I did.”

Ethan gave him a look.

“Okay, no, I didn’t,” Jackson groaned, “We were busy sorting through legal documents, okay? God, I hate that I can’t even lie in my own home.”

“Lycanthropy is a two way street, at least in this household,” Ethan grinned, reaching for his phone and scrolling through some numbers. Jackson whined at the sudden loss of warmth, earning him another chuckle from Ethan, “Just calling takeout. What are you feeling tonight?”

Jackson said nothing and groped in Ethan’s direction.

“Pizza it is. You’re such a drama queen, you know that?”

“You love it.”

“I’m starting to question all my life decisions right now,” Ethan said, already settling back into

Jackson’s arms, resting his head on Jackson’s pecs. The runway had ended and the queens were moving on to a rap challenge. Jackson was prepared for cringe. There was always at least one queen who flopped hard into iconicity with these types of challenges, and Jackson was decently excited to see who it would be. 

So when the performances ended and no one even mildly stumbled, Jackson was a little annoyed. Well, he was glad all the queens did well, sure, but he wanted a bit of mess, damnit.

“You look pissed,” Ethan chuckled, “Not feeling the fantasy?”

Jackson shook his head, “No, everyone did great. I just…”

“Wanted a Roxxxy Andrews moment?”

“Yes, and I hate that I know exactly what you’re talking about.”

Ethan lifted his head and pressed a kiss to Jackson’s chin, “You’re such a bitch.”

“I know,” Jackson said proudly.

The episode wrapped up just in time for the pizza to arrive, and the two of them spent the rest of the evening discussing the queens. Ethan was enamored with Heidi N. Closet. Jackson didn’t really have the heart to tell Ethan she probably wasn’t going to go far. Patterns and all that, and Jackson was surprised that Ethan hadn’t picked up on the show’s casting habits after watching it for all these years.

“You then,” Ethan said, waving a slice of pizza in Jackson’s direction like a little dagger, “Who’s your pick?”

“Gigi,” Jackson said.

“Really? She’s so...basic.”

Jackson frowned, “I dunno, I thought she was pretty polished. Did you see her spring look?”

“Alright, that was nice,” Ethan conceded, “But let me ask, what were the two things she had in all four looks tonight?”

Jackson took a moment to think. He hadn’t noticed any running themes with Gigi’s looks, just the fact that they were polished to perfection and that her verse was really catchy. Jackson groaned internally, knowing that “good morning campers” was going to run through his head constantly this week. 

“A helmet and a jacket,” Ethan deadpanned, “Well, entrance was technically a hat, but they're basically all the same.”

Jackson shoveled another piece of pizza into his mouth, garbling at Ethan between bites, “We’ll see when she wins.”

Ethan scrunched up his face, “Don’t chew with your mouth open.”

“Okay, mom.”

* * *

“You, uh, still wanna watch this week?” Ethan asked awkwardly. He was staring at the TV remote like it was a silver bullet coated in wolfsbane, waves of anxiety rolling off his body and almost overwhelming Jackson’s senses. Jackson rolled his eyes and settled in on the couch. His hand found its way to Ethan’s back, rubbing small soothing circles into his boyfriend’s skin. Ethan relaxed the smallest, tiniest bit, but his body was still tense, his scent still anxious. 

“Is this about the Sherry Pie situation?” Jackson asked.

Ethan nodded grimly, “Yeah. They said they’ll edit around her, but this episode is being shown as is. Not enough time to make a new cut.”

“I’ll be fine,” Jackson said, “Seriously.”

Ethan frowned, muttering quietly, “You sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Ethan said firmly, “What Sherry did was hella shitty, but it’s not something that relates to what happened to me. I’ll be okay.”

“Well…”

Jackson rolled his eyes, tapping Ethan’s nose lightly. His hands found Ethan’s and grasped them tight, a small smile dancing on his face, “Stop mother henning me, Ethan. What happened to me was shitty, and what happened to Sherry’s victims was also shitty, but it’s not the same.”

“I don’t know, Jackson,” Ethan muttered. He rubbed his thumb over the back of Jackson’s hand.

“Let’s just watch our weekly episode of catty gays in wigs, yeah? Promise, if it gets too much, I’ll tell you and we can watch like, Great British Bake Off reruns or something.”

“Alright,” Ethan conceded, finally. He pulled Jackson into his arms, pressed a kiss on Jackson’s forehead, and flipped on the TV, “You gotta tell me if something feels wrong, okay?”

“Yes, babe. God, you treat me like I’m a fragile diva or something.”

Ethan gave Jackson a look.

“Okay, fair,” Jackson huffed, “But I’m not gonna let Shitty Pie ruin a perfectly fine season of RuPaul’s Drag Race for me.”

“Shitty Pie,” Ethan mumbled, “Well, it fits.”

The familiar opening jingle blasted through the TV. Jackson settled in, snuggling closer to Ethan, and prepared for another episode. 

* * *

Jackson crouched on the rafters, waiting for Ethan’s signal. He could hear three heartbeats in the rain worn warehouse, beating erratically around a humming radiator. He smelled the sharp hiss of cheap beer, mingling with the saccharine scent of wolfsbane and the musky undertone of the kind of paranoid stress that seemed to follow every hunter he’d ever come across. Jackson fought the urge to pounce on them now. Monroe met her downfall last year, her hunter empire crumbling with her, but scattered pockets of extremists remained, launching brazen attacks on the supernatural community around the world. This particular cell did not seem too competent, but it still had taken way too much work to find their hideout. The domestic his firm was handling was starting to go to court and Jackson really needed his nine hours if he was going to be anywhere near presentable for that jury. 

He saw it then, a flash of glowing blue from the folds of darkness, there one moment and gone the next. Jackson smirked. His tail came swinging just as a blur from the shadows tackled down one of the hunters, another soon falling stiff with kanima venom. The last hunter could barely get out a shout before she too was pushed against the ground, kanima poison coursing through her veins.

Jackson swung down from the rafters, smiling smugly at the two still-conscious hunters. They looked young, probably barely indoctrinated into Monroe’s dogma. Maybe a stint in jail and a talk with the local hunter family would set them straight. 

One tried to snarl at Jackson as Ethan joined his side, already securing the hunters with a length of rope. Cute, really. Ethan was making his “I hate your gross tail” face at Jackson again, prompting Jackson to give Ethan a little smack on the rear with his boyfriend’s least favorite body part. Ethan would be changing his tune about Jackson’s tail tonight anyways. 

“Good morning, campers,” Jackson crooned, giving the hunters a little salute. He heard Ethan chuckle beside him.

The hunters said nothing, glaring at him and Ethan with murder in their eyes. 

Jackson answered them with his best shit-eating grin, “You know you don’t have to strain your eyes that hard to get a good look at me, right? Plenty to go around.”

“You’re disgusting,” one of the hunters, a mousy boy still trying to outgrow his acne, growled.

“I’m beautiful,” Jackson replied easily. Ethan snorted, casually whipping out his phone and pretending not to pay attention. It was a perfected part of their little routine now, Ethan feigning indifference just in case any of the hunters they caught had perfected the art of lying to a werewolf. Most hunters didn't bother with masking lies, but summer 2018 was still rather fresh in both of their memories and Jackson would rather not relive that particular experience. 

“Anyways, we just have a few questions for you guys. Got any friends around?”

Neither of the conscious hunters said anything. The one Ethan knocked out groaned groggily. Jackson could catch Ethan smirk out of the corner of his eyes. Nice.

“Wanna tell me where your friends are hiding?”

One of the hunters, a redheaded girl still stumbling through her braces, pitched forward, boring holes into Jackson’s head with her eyes, “Like we’ll ever tell you monsters anything!”

Jackson didn’t even need to look at Ethan to get confirmation for that. He was wracking his brain for the other suspected hideouts they’d identified when Ethan let out a very audible, very hearty “fuck.”

“Ethan?”

Ethan sighed and shook his head, “Ugh, it’s nothing. I just owe Lydia and Danny...hella money.”

Jackson quirked an eyebrow, “Babe, what did you do?”

“We, uh, had a bet on who was gonna get eliminated first on drag race.”

Jackson scoffed, “Let me guess, Dahlia went, right?”

Ethan’s wide eyed expression was all he needed to confirm his suspicions. Jackson had a feeling it was Dahlia was going to go early anyways. Her marketing interviews were way too subdued and her performance last episode was bad. It wasn't even Roxxxy Andrews levels of iconic bad, it was just bad. 

“Who’d you bet on?”

“Uh...The pie one. And she won the challenge.”

Jackson sighed resignedly, already feeling their bank account draining, “We’re seriously going to talk about your gambling habits when we get home.”

He turned his attention back to the two hunters he was interrogating, who at least had the decency to look mildly confused. Jackson rolled his eyes. He stopped keeping track of the amount of interrogations he had to do over the years, forgive him if he wasn’t perfectly professional-slash-intimidating for every single one.

“You watch TV?” the mousy boy squeaked. His voice was filled with the wonder that sometimes filled these hunters when they realized that werewolves can have interests outside of casual homicide and howling at the moon. Jackson almost fought the urge to be condescending. Almost.

“We do other things too,” Jackson grinned, “Anyways, where were we? Right. Would ‘1933 Elwood Way’ mean anything to you two?” 

* * *

Jackson languidly refreshed his email for what felt like the thousandth time that day. Ever since the lockdown started, his firm had been oscillating between halting all operations and scrambling to move everything online. If he had to read another email from Janice about the “unprecedented times” again Jackson was going to gouge his eyes out. 

Ethan had been faring even worse, his shop forced to close down right before a big, publicity attracting auction. Jackson knew that Ethan was still trying to figure out the logistics of moving everything online, but his clientele’s age driven aversion to the twenty-first century was going to make that transition extra challenging. Jackson could practically taste Ethan’s stress lingering in the air. 

Well, it was Saturday, and they literally had nowhere else to be. So Jackson turned on Netflix and motioned for Ethan to come join him on the couch.

“Oh, thanks babe,” Ethan mumbled, “I seriously need this.”

“You think?”

“Hit play before I change my mind, Jackson.”

Jackson laughed, reaching to ruffle Ethan’s hair, “When have you ever said no to drag race, Ethan?”

“Well,” Ethan mused, exaggeratedly locked in a thinking pose, “There was that time we had to fly back to Beacon Hills to save the world.”

“Didn’t you buy a VPN just so you can fool Netflix into thinking you were in England?”

Ethan tussled with Jackson, confirmation that Jackson had won this particular battle, for a moment before settling down and letting the TV run. Jackson grinned, only half paying attention to whatever was going on in the episode, letting himself enjoy having Ethan beside him. Time together, where they weren’t preoccupied by rogue supernaturals or zealous hunters, where they can just bask in each other’s presence, was woefully rare. They were stuck with each other for the foreseeable future, though, something Jackson was secretly thankful for. It would probably be a long time before they got sick of each other.

Jackson mentally traced the curves and angles of Ethan’s face, following the swoop of his forehead, the dip of his nose, the tilt of his lips. Jackson was pretty, he knew that, but Ethan was a different kind of handsome, rugged around the edges. Lydia had called him “ugly-cute,” and Jackson was inclined to agree, even if he objected to her word choice. Well, she did date Aiden, so maybe that spoke more about her than it did about him. 

He listened to the rise and fall of Ethan’s breath, the steady beating of his heart, only picking up pace whenever something mildly exciting happened on screen. Jackson half listened to whatever emotional sob story was playing out in front of the makeup mirrors today, more amused by the pinpoint focus on Ethan’s face than the slowly unfolding melodrama.

“Ball today,” Ethan said excitedly, “We’re getting three looks per queen.”

“What’s the theme?”

“Balls ball.”

Jackson chuckled, “I feel like there’s both a dog joke and a gay joke in here somewhere.”

The episode proceeded fine until the tops and bottoms were announced and Jackson could hear Ethan’s heartbeat tick up. He eyed his boyfriend, “What’s wrong?”

“Widow and Crystal safe?” Ethan said, “Seriously? Their looks were fucking amazing, how are they safe?”

“Maybe it’s like, all three looks getting judged together kind of thing?” Jackson ventured.

“Okay, fine, maybe Crystal and Widow had a few rough outfits for the first two categories,” Ethan conceded, “But they made that on set, with time constraints and shitty materials, that has to count for something, right?”

Jackson shrugged.

“And you can’t tell me Gigi looked basic as fuck today.” 

Jackson sighed, “Alright, alright, maybe you have a point about that. But Nicky and Jaida look great too and you can only have three people in the top, right?”

“Fine,” Ethan pouted, “But Gigi better not win. And Rock better not be lip syncing. I mean, look, just look at Aiden Zhane. What a mess.”

Gigi ended up winning and Rock ended up getting eliminated. It took cajoling, food, and promises of mind-blowing sex to stop Ethan from wolfing out and hunting down RuPaul from across the Atlantic. 

* * *

Jackson eyed Ethan warily from across the couch, the television droning on in the background. Ethan had spent the better half of the last week ranting to him about the biased judging on the last episode, only really stopping to eat, sleep, and worry about the state of his antique shop. The new episode was playing and Ethan was just tapping angrily at his phone.

“Ethan, talk to me,” Jackson pressed. 

“I’m fine,” Ethan gritted. The heavy iron scent of simmering anger emanating from his boyfriend told Jackson otherwise.

“Ethan, werewolf household,” Jackson said, “Can’t really be emotionally constipated around here.”

“It’s nothing,” Ethan sighed, “Seriously, I’m just being petty.”

“Being cooped up all day probably isn’t helping either,” Jackson hummed, “Seriously, just tell me what’s up, Ethan.”

Ethan groaned before callously throwing his phone on their coffee table, “I was scrolling through Nicky Doll’s instagram and got spoiled for tonight’s episode.”

Jackson frowned. He knew there was a subset of the drag race fanbase that revelled in finding out the eliminations and wins before the show aired. Ethan tried explaining it to him once, and Jackson had concluded that these particular fans should probably be hired by the secret services. He also knew there was another subset of drag race fans who loved to get this information from these sources and paste it all over social media like smug bitches with nothing better to do. 

Jackson poked Ethan with his foot, “So, who got eliminated?”

Ethan stared at him with the pain of a thousand wounded puppies, “Why would I spoil it for you?”

“It’s Nicky, isn’t it?”

Yep, there was the telltale spike of heartbeat, the sharp intake of breath, the slightly acrid odor of surprise. Jackson rolled his shoulder casually, “Man, that sucks. I liked Nicky too, she’s like...secretly hilarious. And hot. But the language barrier was gonna do her in sooner or later. You’re still up to watch, right?”

“Yeah, duh,” Ethan nodded vigorously, “Still, it would've been nice to find out myself. Don’t these thirst traps know no one benefits from spoilers?”

Jackson shrugged, “They’re probably not getting enough attention.”

“You trying to say something, Jackson?”

Jackson shrugged again, feigning innocence, “Nothing, it’s just getting a little chilly here by myself.”

“You’re so full of shit,” Ethan huffed. He was by Jackson’s side in an instant anyway, arms wrapped securely around Jackson’s waist, “Better?”

“Much.” 

The episode started with the queens already making fools of themselves in outrageously ridiculous bee costumes, RuPaul’s cackling echoing through the stereo. Jackson turned to Ethan and whispered, “Babe?”

“Yeah?”

“Maybe stay off the Instagram comments next week.”

Ethan chuckled, “Will do.”

* * *

“Jackson! Snatch game is about to start!”

Jackson snapped up from the pile of maps, security pictures, and reports he had been trying to untangle. Somehow, in the midst of a pandemic, there were still reports of hunter activity. The past few days had involved grumpily coordinating with the local pack and a few sympathetic hunters and policemen, triangulating where the rogue hunter could possibly be, whether they were colluding with anyone. The situation would probably have been resolved by now if Jackson and Ethan could go on a few night patrols, but there’s a virus out and about and Ethan had been insistent on not bringing it home. 

God, he needed a break. He really should not when the life he’d built for himself and Ethan was on the line, but he was tired, a little hungry, and he really, really liked snatch game.

“Jackson!” Ethan called again, “I know you want to.” Unspoken concern was laced in his boyfriend’s words, and yeah, okay, Jackson could use a break and a few jokes.

He found his place on the couch, in Ethan’s arms. The character introductions were already done, RuPaul starting to field questions from two celebrity guests Jackson could vaguely recognize to the contestants.

“Wait, aren’t those the guys from Mean Girls?”

Ethan nodded, eyes still glued to the screen. Jackson rolled his eyes and snuggled in closer.

“Lydia used to make me watch that all the time,” Jackson chuckled, reminiscing, “That and The Notebook. Don’t think I can ever watch The Notebook again.”

Ethan hummed quietly, nuzzling the top of Jackson’s head. The contestants continued to attempt their impersonations, and Jackson couldn’t recognize half the people they had picked. He never could for snatch game anyway, not a big deal. 

“Crystal’s Poppy is creeping me the fuck out,” Jackson muttered. On screen, the off putting caricature smiled a soulless grin and mentioned her cult yet again. Jackson shuddered.

“I’m surprised Gigi is doing so good,” Ethan said, a few chuckles escaping as Gigi tried and failed to pick up her note card with her stiff, robotic arms. Jackson preened. About time Ethan appreciated his favorite queen. 

“Who’s Lisa Rinna?” Jackson mused, “I know the laugh track over Jackie’s jokes means we’re supposed to laugh but I don’t really get it.”

“I think she’s a real housewife?” Ethan shrugged, “I don’t really know muc–Oh! Th–hah–that’s good!”

Jackson was too busy laughing to reply. Gigi just told RuPaul to fuck off, and Jackson could recognize a fellow bad bitch when he saw one. Gigi had balls, no matter where they were tucked, and Jackson could respect that. 

As the challenge continued, he could notice a shift in Ethan’s body signals, slight but noticeable. He attempted to try and sniff out what was wrong, but his audio and scent skills were admittedly nowhere near as good as Ethan’s. So Jackson did what he did best. He pried. 

“What’s up, Ethan?”

Ethan grunted, “I kinda hate what Sherry’s doing. I don’t know if tremors are all that funny…Oh, civil rights hair! I’m stealing that.”

“Not sure if you should, Ethan,” Jackson chuckled.

“Still. I know Sherry’s gonna place pretty damn well for this,” Ethan grumbled, “And I kinda hate her entire schtick. Probably would have hated it even without the allegations.”

“Well, who do you want to win?”

Ethan sighed. His next words barely came out of his mouth, as if it was painful for him to send them out into the universe, “Gigi’s really funny.”

“Now was that really that hard to get out?”

“Heidi’s also doing great.”

Jackson rolled his eyes, “Now that’s just favoritism.”

“I don’t have favorites,” Ethan grinned, and Jackson could practically taste where this was going, “You’re my favorite.”

“Ethan, please shut up.”

“Love you too, babe.”

The snatch game drew to a close on a rather low note, bouncing from Aiden’s disastrous shaky old lady to Sherry’s admittedly funnier shaky old lady. Gigi got a few words in, but that ending was atrocious. Why the editors decided to close with Crystal’s Poppy, Jackson will never know.

“That is going to haunt my nightmares now.” 

“No shit,” Ethan muttered, “You gonna watch the rest with me?” 

Jackson sighed and shook his head. He turned and eyed the pile of documents he’d abandoned to join Ethan, already dreading the amount of sorting and organizing he still had to do. He felt a hand pressed between his shoulder blades and turned to meet Ethan, a sympathetic smile spread on his boyfriend’s face. 

“I’ll help.”

Jackson’s eyes widened, “There’s still half an episode left for you to watch.”

“I feel like I know what’s gonna go down,” Ethan shrugged, “Gigi’s gonna win and Aiden and Brita are gonna be in the bottom. Crystal might be in danger but she wasn’t nearly as bad.”

“You sure about that?” Jackson asked, “Isn’t drag race ‘serious business?’”

“This is serious too,” Ethan answered, “And, uh, I don’t want you to tire yourself out too much.”

“Aww, you’re being so sweet.”

“I’ve got big plans for you tonight.”

“I take that back, you’re fucking nasty,” Jackson laughed. “C’mon, these files aren’t gonna sort themselves.”

In the end, they didn’t make much progress on narrowing down the location of the suspected hunters at all. But Ethan did end up doing good on all his promises that night, and Jackson considered that a win. 

* * *

“Good morning, camper,” Jackson crooned, “Why do you look like Derek on a good day?”

“I hate you,” Ethan deadpanned.

“You love me.”

“I can’t believe I’m dating a Gigi apologist.”

Jackson grinned, “What do you mean, she won that challenge fair and square.”

“Jan was robbed! Robbed!”

“That’s not what the judges thought.”

Ethan just flipped him off and returned to his computer, angrily tapping away at whatever he was working on. Probably more logistics for the antique shop’s move online. Jackson could vaguely hear Danny on call through Ethan’s earbuds, but the volume was too low even for his werewolf ears to pick up the words. Well, Danny was good at technology. Jackson was glad at least one of their friends was qualified enough to help Ethan. 

However, it had been a hot minute since he’d gotten to talk to Danny, so Jackson decided now would be as good a time as any to catch up with his friend. Time zones were ass to schedule around, on top of Danny pursuing a doctorate and Jackson’s career aspirations. He stepped behind Ethan and took a look at his boyfriend’s laptop. There was the barebones skeleton of a website, a few pictures laid out captioned by some mismatched fonts, with Danny’s face peering back at them from a popup in the bottom corner. He waved at Jackson.

“Hey Danny,” Jackson waved back, “How’re things?”

Mini virtual Danny mouthed something on the screen. Jackson looked at Ethan expectantly, grin expanding as Ethan huffed and unplugged his earbuds. 

“You doing good, Jackson?” Danny’s voice came fizzling through Ethan’s laptop, “Need a return warrant on Ethan yet?”

“Nope,” Jackson said smugly, planting a kiss to Ethan’s cheek, “I think I lost the receipt, Danny.”

“Guess you’re stuck with him, huh?”

Jackson could see Ethan rolling his eyes, “More like I’m stuck with him.”

Danny laughed on the other end, and all at once, Jackson felt a deep, chilling pang of pain. He missed this, missed the easy banter with Danny, the way he knew just enough about both of them to rile them up and chew them out, how Danny could notice from an ocean away if something was wrong. Ethan reached over and squeezed his arm reassuringly.

“If you two are gonna start making out, please end the call now.”

Jackson scoffed, “Don’t worry, Danny, he’s too mad at me right now for that.”

He caught Ethan’s lips twitch in the slightest hint of a smile, “I’m not mad, just disappointed.”

Danny tutted, “Trouble in paradise?”

“Jackson thinks Gigi deserved her win last night.”

“Oh yikes,” Danny cringed, “That’s a deal breaker, Ethan.”

Jackson gasped indignantly, throwing his arms tight around Ethan’s neck, “I can’t believe you’re trying to steal my man. With drag race.”

“I’m not. And I had him first.”

Jackson pulled Ethan in closer, “He’s mine now, Danny, back off. Also, you gotta admit Gigi did mildly better than Jan.”

“I dunno,” Danny shrugged, “Jan’s vocals were great and her runway was miles better. Gigi’s coasting on pretty, Jackson.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell him!” Ethan exclaimed. He turned and looked at Jackson pensively, “You know, Danny, maybe I you and I should get back together.”

Jackson gasped in horror.

“Yeah, maybe,” Danny mused, “You can do better than a Gigi apologist, Ethan.”

“I hate both of you so much.”

Ethan just laughed and kissed his cheek with the smug pride of a cat that had hauled in a dead woodland creature, “I love you too. But Danny and I need to work on the website, babe, so we can save this discussion for another time, maybe?”

“Fine,” Jackson grumbled, disentangling himself from Ethan. Danny waved on the screen, going silent when Ethan plugged his earbuds back in. 

Jackson was rummaging through their kitchen for his midday snack when Ethan called out from his spot, “Hey Jackson!”

“What is it?”

“Jan still should have won the musical!”

Well, if a certain long, venom tipped appendage tripped Ethan on his way to the shower that night, Jackson would say he had it coming.

* * *

“Damnit Janice,” Jackson muttered under his breath, halfheartedly downloading the fifth file bomb he’d received that week from the firm’s head barrister. After a few weeks of absolutely nothing happening, the reality that this lockdown will be extending for much longer than anticipated had prompted a hasty reshuffle of the firm’s structure to transition operations online. Which means Jackson was currently swamped with a backlog of evidence and precedents for the big domestic case they were working on, with the hearing date accelerated due to the court’s own backlog. Just great, really.

Jackson sighed and reached out for his fourth cup of coffee when he felt Ethan nuzzling kisses into the top of his head. “Hey babe, you doing okay?”

“If Janice sends me another passive-aggressive email I’m gonna rip her fucking throat out.”

“Is Janice…”

“The she-devil with the asymmetrical bleach cut?” Jackson sneered, “Yeah, that’s her.”

“The one that…”

“Insisted on calling you my ‘special friend?’ Yep. That Janice.”

Ethan smiled sympathetically, “Well, screw Janice. Wanna watch drag race?”

“I’d love to flip her the bird or whatever the Brits say,” Jackson said, “But I seriously gotta work on this case. The hearing’s next week and we have almost next to nothing done.”

“Background noise?” Ethan offered, “Danny said this episode’s pretty funny and you could use some laughs.”

Jackson weighed his options. He knew the extra noise would be a bit distracting, even if he could appreciate a little bit of lighthearted fun. But Jackson was also so tired of looking over these disparate files, he could really use the distraction. 

“Alright, go ahead. Ready to watch Gigi win again?”

Ethan scowled, “I swear to God if she wins again you’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”

“You know I have no control over this, right?”

“You manifested this,” Ethan said accusingly. 

“It’s called taste, babe.”

The show began playing in the background, and Jackson contentedly zoned out into a state of dissociative productivity, letting the banter of the queens wash over his senses. He laughed at a few of the commercials the queens staged, eyeing Ethan suggestively when Jackie began advertising her magical merkin. He even cringed a little at Gigi’s minor trainwreck, fearing for his favorite, hissing a breath in relief when she was declared safe. 

“So, Heidi won,” Ethan said smugly.

“So, Jan went home,” Jackson replied, matching Ethan’s tone word for word.

“You’re so lucky you’re pretty.”

* * *

Jackson blissfully snapped his laptop closed. The first hearing had gone exceptionally well, at least in Jackson’s opinion, and he was sure they would receive a settlement offer soon. Their client, a slight middle-aged woman who seemed on the verge of breaking, had reeked of despair when they last met her in the office. Jackson was glad to help her get back at her jerkass of a husband. 

He made his way to their sofa, where Ethan was half-heartedly watching the latest episode of RuPaul’s Drag Race, chewing his bottom lip ragged, his brows forming deep creases in his forehead. 

“I can practically hear you think, babe,” Jackson whispered into his boyfriend’s ear, “Wanna tell me what’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Ethan said, “Just appreciating how iconic Jaida is.”

Jackson hummed, “You’re stressed about something. I can smell it.”

“I think you should be the one stressing,” Ethan countered, “Gigi’s not doing so hot.”

“I have faith in my favorite, Ethan.” Jackson climbed his way onto the sofa, plopping his head into Ethan’s lap, “But you’re deflecting and it’s making my lawyer senses tingle. So spill.”

“I can’t believe I’m dating a werewolf-kanima lawyer. Just my luck.”

Jackson grinned, “Then you should know it’s useless to hide your problems from me, Ethan.”

“I was gonna tell you anyways, jackass,” Ethan huffed, “I’m just a bit worried about the antique shop. I’ve set up the website, but…”

“Not getting enough customers?” Jackson finished. Ethan’s nod confirmed Jackson’s suspicions. He knew between his parent’s wealth and the sizable inheritance Deucalion left for Ethan, his boyfriend was not in much danger of losing the shop. But Jackson also knew that Ethan manned the shop for the interactions with the customers, for the chance to geek out about old, dusty shit with older, dustier people. The shop was important to Ethan, so it was important to Jackson too. Even if their finances took a hit.

He’ll unpack the fact he’d begin to think of their money as “theirs” later. 

“I dunno, yes, I guess?”

The maxi challenge began on the screen, the queens all lined up in speaker podiums for a faux political debate. Jackson had a feeling it was going to be disastrous. “What are you doing to reach customers?”

Ethan shrugged. They shared a look of disgust when Sherry began her old lady schtick again before returning to the topic at hand, “I’ve just been hoping they can get to the website, I guess.”

Jackson clicked his tongue disapprovingly, “Ethan, you gotta do more than that if you want to reach your customers. Have you considered a Facebook page?”

“Ew,” Ethan moaned, “No one uses Facebook.”

“Old people use Facebook,” Jackson pressed, “Like your client base. You should probably get like, emails and mailing lists too, from antiques clubs and the like. Should help people be aware of your business. Then word of mouth should take care of the rest.”

Crystal did a little dance with her mullet on the TV. Ethan nodded slowly, “You know, that’s not a bad idea.”

“Of course it’s not,” Jackson grinned, “I came up with it. Now you can stop stressing for a bit and we can watch Gigi slay her way to the crown.”

Ethan rolled his eyes, “You sure? ‘Cause it looks like she’s about to land in the bottom again.”

“What!?”

* * *

A strange reprieve fell over their little bubble this past week, with a dearth of crises to attend to. No pressing legal battles, no pandemic neutered stores, and no supernatural activity. That last point did strike Jackson as strange, but maybe the hunters were actually putting the safety of others before their own interests for once. Jackson doubted that was the case, but the relatively stress free week with Ethan had been a blessing, so he wasn’t complaining. 

Which was how Jackson found himself burritoed in a blanket with Ethan, spooning ice cream into his mouth and watching the queens do makeovers for some very lucky women on screen. Crystal and her partner’s preschool antics were already grating on Jackson’s annoyance tolerance, but Ethan seemed to be having the time of his life.

“How can you hate her?” Ethan asked, emphasizing each word with a flick of a sticky spoon, “She’s so happy to be there.”

“A little too happy,” Jackson muttered, “She’s like a puppy that’s about to piss itself from joy.”

“Stop being a sour wolf, Jackson.”

“Excuse you, I’m a sour wolf-kanima lawyer. Get it right.”

“Sorry, babe,” Ethan chuckled, pushing a sticky kiss to Jackson’s cheek. Jackson tried to pull away, but the blanket around their shoulders offered little in terms of freedom of movement, cursing him to bear the brunt of Ethan’s ice cream tacky lips.

“Ugh, gross,” Jackson whined, “Can you not?”

“You know you love it.”

Jackson was not going to dignify that with a response. 

Jackson sulked and Ethan preened as the makeover proceeded, the queens showing off their new protegees to the judges. Jackson had to admit, Crystal really outdone herself. He could see the way Ethan’s eyes gleamed as Crystal and her partner stepped on stage in their lesbian Bert and Ernie looks, prancing onstage like a couple of newlyweds. Jackson heard his heartbeat stutter, the hitch of his boyfriend’s breath, while the scent of yearning filled the air. 

“You okay, Ethan?”

“Hmm? Yeah,” Ethan said. He was quiet for a moment, before starting, “Was just wondering, would you ever do drag?”

There was still a trace of nervous energy undercutting Ethan’s scent, but Jackson was too blissed out on ice cream and drag race to press anymore, so he decided to entertain his boyfriend, “Probably not.”

“Why not? You’d be a great insult comic.”

“Don’t compare me to Bianca del Rio,” Jackson warned, “I’m prettier. But let’s be real, I don’t think I’d be able to tuck.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Hey!” Jackson cried indignantly, shoving Ethan lightly. His jerk of a boyfriend just bowled over laughing, “Ethan, my dick is perfectly serviceable!”

“Sure, babe.”

“That’s not what you were saying last night!” Jackson screeched, lunging after Ethan, “You really want to sleep on the couch tonight?”

“Yield! I yield!” Ethan yelled, half laughing, hands up and defensive, “You’re a three legged beast and your power can’t be contained in a mere mortal tuck. Happy?”

“Very,” Jackson grinned, “What about you? Would you do drag?”

Ethan hummed, contemplating, “Maybe. I’m athletic but I’m not that flexible. Probably can’t do any of the splits and tricks the really fierce queens do.”

“You also dance like the whitest boy alive.”

“That too.”

“I don’t know about the not flexible part, though,” Jackson said suggestively, “I’d say you were pretty flexible last night.”

Ethan made a show of sniffing the air and frowning, even though Jackson could smell the rising arousal from his boyfriend, “Really Jackson? We literally just scarfed down a tub of ice cream.”

“We still have some time before it gets digested, right?” Jackson grinned cheekily.

“I hate you so much.”

They never got around to watching the lip sync that night. Considering it was a double save, Jackson was perfectly okay with that.

* * *

Jackson hated this so, so much. They were out in a warehouse in the middle of a pandemic, when they should be home, because a fucking hunter had decided that now was the perfect time to harass the local supernatural populace. He should have known, what with the suspicious activity a few weeks back, but Jackson had hoped that the hunter had enough common sense to lay low and fucking social distance. But nope, the hunter had decided to firebomb the hair salon of one of the local pack members, and Jackson was not going to let that happen to Ethan’s antique shop.

Their civilian contact had helped them forge some papers as essential workers. Jackson still felt a little icky about that, but he supposed they were technically saving lives. Even if this situation was perfectly preventable. They could be cuddling on the couch right now, watching drag race and bitching at each other, but they were here, in a cold, dank warehouse, waiting for the hunter to show their face. 

Fucking hunters and their fucking warehouses. It was always a fucking warehouse, too. It was getting predictable. 

A quick movement in the shadows caught his eye. There was a grunt, and Jackson’s pulse quickened when he realized that it sounded suspiciously like Ethan. 

The signal hadn’t come yet, but Jackson was not going to lose his boyfriend now, not like this. His tail shot out and clipped the assailant on their back, Jackson swinging down soon after to land a punch to the hunter’s jaw. The crack of bone was almost satisfying. 

“J–Jackson?”

“Ethan!” Jackson gasped, rushing to his boyfriend’s side. A dart of wolfsbane gleamed in the low light, sticking out of Ethan’s bicep. Jackson growled, yanking out the offending weapon and pulling Ethan into a desperate kiss.

“I’m fine,” Ethan muttered between kisses, voice strained as his werewolf healing struggled to catch up.

“Don’t fucking do that again,” Jackson grumbled.

“What? Get hurt?”

“Yes, you dick.”

“No promises,” Ethan gritted out, infuriatingly cheeky despite the situation. Jackson rolled his eyes and turned his attention to the hunter prone on the ground. He growled and hauled the man, looking somewhere in his mid thirties with the patchiest beard he’d ever seen, up to his feet. Jackson was seconds away from beating the man inches from death when the medallion the hunter was wearing caught his eye.

“You’re a Helsing?” Jackson asked, incredulous. The Helsings had a code stricter than the Argents and had an extremely long standing cooperative agreement with the local London pack, which had helped contribute to the relative stability of supernatural life in the area. Seeing one so brazenly attacking supernaturals now sent a shot of dread deep into Jackson’s core. Not this, not another war. 

“Yeah,” the man gritted out.

“What the fuck are you doing then?” Jackson screamed, not caring when droplets of spittle splattered on the man’s face, “Destroying establishments? Shooting my boyfriend?”

“It was self defense!”

“He could have fucking died!”

Jackson’s eyes glowed blue, his wolf clawing its way out, baying for violence, for blood, for the death of this hunter trespassing on his life. Then a hand was placed on his shoulder, comforting and familiar, and Jackson closed his eyes. He willed his pulse to slow, willed his wolf to crawl back into its den, willed that primal anger to give way to rationality. He let out a shaky breath and slowly lowered the man. 

“You’re going to answer our questions,” Jackson ground out, “And you’re gonna answer them honestly.”

The man said nothing. He couldn’t have nodded if he tried. Jackson unceremoniously dropped him to the ground, watching with smug satisfaction as his face contorted in pain.

“Why are you doing this?” Jackson asked.

“To track down the rogue hunter that bombed the salon,” the man groaned out, “I was doing well too, until you two showed up.”

Jackson looked at Ethan. He really was not expecting Ethan to nod.

“You’re not lying,” Jackson muttered, “What the fuck.”

“But we were delegated for this,” Ethan said, “By both the Helsings and Natasha’s pack. Why are you on the case?”

The man said nothing. Then he muttered, quietly, “I fucked up really badly a few missions back and I’m trying to redeem myself.”

“And you almost killed my boyfriend. Great,” Jackson muttered.

Ethan, bless his heart, was attempting to be more diplomatic, “How about we cut you a deal?”

The man eyed them warily, “What kind of deal?”

“We convince the pack and the Helsings to let you in on this case,” Ethan said, “And we don’t talk about this incident. Deal?”

“Deal.”

Ethan grinned, “Sounds good. The poison should wear off in a few hours.” He turned to Jackson and smiled, “And we have an episode of RuPaul’s Drag Race to watch.”

“Oh, do we now?” Jackson hummed.

“I heard the runways this week are really good.”

“Wait,” the hunter exclaimed, the slightest hint of excitement in his voice, “You watch drag race too?”

* * *

“So, top five,” Jackson said, “Well, technically four.”

Ethan hummed absentmindedly.

“So, Heidi isn’t a part of it.”

“It was between her and Jaida last week,” Ethan said resignedly, “And I’d honestly rather have Jaida...unfortunately.”

“I hope you’re ready for Gigi supremacy,” Jackson said smugly.

“We’ll see about that.”

Ethan turned his attention back to his phone, leaving Jackson to watch the episode. Nothing particularly exciting was happening, mainly a lot of fluffy talk about being a step from the finale and Jackie feeling shaky about her place in the competition. She was definitely getting the chop, unless the editors did some magic splicing thing to get rid of the pie one. Jackson doubted they’d go through the trouble for that. It was weird, watching and knowing that Gigi, Crystal, and Jaida were basically a lock for top three.

The queens were in the middle of a sad talk about family when Ethan burst out laughing. Jackson raised an eyebrow, “What’s up, Ethan?”   
  


“Hmmm? Oh, Mike sent me a funny meme.”

Jackson frowned, trying to piece together where he had heard the name Mike. Oh. The Helsing from last week, who had taken the task of tracking down the hunter cell off their shoulders and had almost killed Ethan. That Mike. 

“What’s the meme about?” Jackson ventured cautiously.

“Oh, Jan being safe,” Ethan said, still grinning, “You know, just drag race stuff.”

Jackson grumbled under his breath, still a little miffed that Ethan could be so friendly with a guy that almost cost him his life. He stewed in his annoyance as the queens began performing onstage, dragging props around in an exaggerated pastiche of a musical.

“Jackson?” Ethan called, “I can smell you simmering. Wanna tell me what’s up?”

“I’m just being petty,” Jackson said, conceding a little bit while still convinced in his righteous grumpiness. 

“You smell a little jealous, Jackson.”

“I’m not jealous!” Jackson exclaimed, “Just...confused why you’re being so friendly to him.”

Ethan shrugged, “Mike’s a good guy, he’s funny, and he’s helping us out.”

“He also almost killed you.”

“If I kept that mentality I wouldn’t be friends with half the people I’m friends with,” Ethan chuckled, “Besides, Mike’s married.”

Jackson scoffed, “When has that ever stopped anyone?”

“He’s also really scared of you,” Ethan said, smiling smugly, “Especially of your tail. I doubt he’ll be trying anything soon.”

“What, this old thing?” Jackson said coyly, his tail snaking around the table to wrap around Ethan’s leg. Ethan yelped, but didn’t make any move to yank his leg away. 

“Jackson, that’s disgusting.”

“You know you love it,” Jackson crooned, letting the tail slide ever so slowly up Ethan’s leg.

“Don’t you wanna know who makes top three?”

Jackson rolled his eyes, “You and I both know there’s no way in hell Jackie is gonna touch the top three, so I’m thinking me, you, our bed, and I can remind you how much you should be scared of this tail.”

“Gross.”

They never did end up watching the rest of the episode, but true to Jackson’s prediction, Jackie sashayed away that night. 

* * *

The video call flickered to life, Lydia’s face, then Danny’s popping onto the screen. Jackson watched as Ethan maneuvered a few different programs to pull up the drag race stream on his laptop and share it with their friends. They had planned this watch party weeks ago, begging Danny and Lydia to hold off on watching the finale so they could watch it together. They’d had to stay off social media for the last twenty four hours just to not get spoiled on the winner, which had been so much harder than it sounded. 

Ethan had almost invited Mike. Jackson shot that down pretty quick. 

“Before we start, who are we rooting for?” Jackson asked eagerly.

“Jaida.” Danny and Ethan said almost simultaneously.

“Gigi literally has four wins,” Jackson scoffed, “She has to win. Lydia, you agree with me, right?”

“I don’t know,” Lydia said, her lilting voice almost singing the words, “I’m rooting for Crystal.”

“She literally has one win!”

She shrugged, “I like underdogs. And Gigi’s wins were suspicious and you know that.”

“Excuse Jackson,” Ethan chuckled, “He’s had nightmares ever since snatch game of Crystal’s Poppy snapping his neck, so he’s a little biased.”

“I am not!”

“I can’t hear you,” Ethan taunted, “I’m starting the stream.”

Jackson sulked as the finale went on. It dragged on for a while, interviews and a weird close up lip sync he wasn’t really interested in. He was almost tempted to ask Ethan to skip to the final lip sync, but his boyfriend and Lydia both seemed way too invested. So Jackson entertained himself with making faces at Danny and trying to hide his laughter as Danny attempted to out ugly him. Not hard, but Jackson appreciated the effort.

The individual lip syncs began, and Jackson was prepared to tune that out until the crowning when an image straight out of his nightmares almost sent him flying out of their apartment window. 

“What the fuck is that!?”

“Huh?” Ethan droned, “Oh, that’s just Crystal. Dressed as...a bird? Two birds.”

“That’s fucking terrifying!” Jackson squeaked, his voice a few pitches higher than acceptable.

“So that’s what big bad Jackson is scared of,” Lydia giggled, “Remind me to learn how to do Crystal’s makeup.”

“Why is she throwing up, why is that happening?”

“Well, Jackson,” Danny started, putting on his academic professor voice, “Some species of birds exhibit extensive maternal care, which could involve the regurgitation of predigested food to their young to aid in growth.”

“Please stop bullying my boyfriend,” Ethan said, but Jackson could practically smell him trying to hold his laughter in. Traitors, all of them.

The cursed performance finally ended, and Jackson sat back to enjoy a very well produced performance by Gigi and a kinda basic performance by Jaida. Danny and Ethan seemed to be enjoying Jaida’s lip sync, but Jackson couldn’t really understand why. Sure, Jaida was polished and charismatic, but Gigi was literal perfection. Jackson was convinced they had to crown Gigi.

Finally, the crowning lip sync began. Jackson gripped Ethan’s hand tightly. This was it, this was the final performance, the deciding factor for the crown. 

“Crystal looks so good,” Lydia squealed.

“What does Wizard of Oz have to do with this,” Danny mused, “I mean, Gigi looks great, but…”

“Shhh,” Ethan shushed. The song began, “Survivor” by Destiny’s Child, and Jackson would have bopped along if he wasn’t so fucking tense. He gripped Ethan’s hand tighter, feeling Ethan do the same. It felt a little strange to be taking a competition about men in wigs so seriously, but he was fucking invested, and he knew that Ethan was too. 

Jaida’s obvious reveal was flung off dramatically, and Jackson had to admit the way the cape moved was incredibly captivating. Gigi and Crystal were getting stomped on, but Jackson hoped that Gigi could pull something out to cinch the win. 

Gigi did her reveal, bringing Dorothy into color, and Jackson gasped excitedly. Which was then immediately overshadowed by Jaida dropping into a split, flanked by Ethan and Danny’s enthusiastic hollering. Crystal began doing some awkward windmills, and Jackson was pretty sure she just murdered any chance she had of winning. 

But Jaida and Gigi, god. Jackson couldn’t call it, not yet.

“Jaida’s killing it,” Ethan muttered, entranced. Jackson had to agree.

Then the song ended, Gigi flashed her panty, Jaida held up her little crown cutout, and the anticipation was hurting him at this point. 

Silence washed over the apartment as RuPaul paused and deliberated. Then she began the announcement. Jackson’s breath caught. Gigi was amazing, but Jaida also slayed, and he knew that Ethan was going to hold this over his head for months if Jaida won.

“America’s next drag superstar is...Jaida Essence Hall.”

Ethan and Danny’s triumphant hollering lasted for two whole minutes. Jackson counted. 

That night, after their friends had logged off and Ethan had victoriously pounded Jackson into their mattress a few times, Ethan finally asked, “So, how do you feel about Jaida winning?”

“She deserved it,” Jackson mumbled sleepily, limbs searching for purchase on Ethan’s body.

“You think so?” Ethan pressed further, “You were really gunning for Gigi.”

“Jaida’s lip sync was better,” Jackson muttered, because it was true. Jackson wasn’t going to deny the truth, no matter how much he wished things could have gone differently. He snuggled closer to Ethan, pressing a kiss to the join of his boyfriend’s neck and shoulder.

“Jackson?”

“What is it babe?”

He felt Ethan grin before he heard the words, the beginnings of that cursed song, “I’m like a bird…”

“Please go the fuck to sleep.”

**Author's Note:**

> Why did I write this? I have no idea. I got into Teen Wolf kinda late and I'll be honest, I'm really only obsessed with Jackson and Ethan because I stan Charlie Carver really hard. The lack of Jethan centric fics in this fandom is criminal, so I'm here to try and rectify that, just a bit. This may or may not become a series, we'll see. 
> 
> Stan Jaida Essence Hall for clear skin.


End file.
